


One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

by Ifwecansparkle



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Chicken Soup, Found Families, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, the Rowdy 3 versus the flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:31:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ifwecansparkle/pseuds/Ifwecansparkle
Summary: "Well?" She demanded, "what do you guys normally do when one of you has the flu?"If there is one thing to be said for life with the Rowdy 3, its that things are never boring.Written for the DGHDA Beginner Bang!





	One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DGHDA Beginner Bang! 
> 
> Collaboration with Liyuanne on Tumblr!
> 
> This was so much fun to work on!

The sun trickled into the Rowdy Van like molasses. The tinted windows never seemed to block out the morning light enough to allow Amanda to sleep in.

Memories of the sun setting her on fire made it hard to sleep through its morning rays. Even after months with the Rowdy Three, she still could not untangle her brain from the grips of pararibulitis anxieties. At any point she expected rain to turn into acid, air to disappear from her lungs, and the sun to come hurtling down on top of her.

She shifted, trying to keep from shaking the already unsteady van and waking the people beside her. 

The other members of the Rowdy Three slept in what could only be described as a dog pile. Sleeping arrangements had been touch and go for a while: Martin had chivalrously offered to tie Vogel to the roof in order to give her room to sleep comfortably. Vogel, for his part, was devastated when she declined. In the end, she settled on a spot just left of the pile. She still resisted unnecessary human touch, still remembered the way it knew how to betray her and burn at the worst moments. 

It was rare that Amanda was the first one awake in the morning. The Rowdy Three, as it turned out, were notoriously early risers. At first she couldn't place why. They had nowhere in particular to be and no one two answer too, and their evenings stretched late. Then she witnessed that first shared nightmare--Cross's, but they all seemed to dream as a unit--and she understood why sleep was not welcome in their world. 

Today, however, silence reigned in the van for a few precious seconds and she tried to take everything in, tried to mentally reorganize her life before the sun finished rising and her friends woke up. 

It only took another three minutes or so for someone in the pile to stir and groan loudly. Seconds later, Cross wriggled out of the pile, waking the others up instantly. 

Well, so much for that moment of serenity. 

"Hot," Cross declared without context and to no one in particular. Amanda quirked an eyebrow at him but said nothing, instead watching Martin disentangle himself from the pile next, followed by Gripps. 

What remained was Vogel, curled up in the fetal position and shivering.

Well, that was new. Amanda sat upright quickly, and realized upon looking around that she was no less confused or concerned than the other Rowdies, whose expressions ranged somewhere between horrified and fascinated. 

"Vogel?" Amanda prompted, because maybe this was just a nightmare in another form. Maybe he wasn't quite awake yet. 

"'s cold" Vogel responded, finally cracking one eye open. Gripps responded by throwing a leather jacket--Amanda later realized it was his own--over him. Vogel curled further into himself. 

Once again, she looked at the Rowdies for help. And they looked back at her. 

"You know what this is, Drummer Girl?" Martin questioned, not gruffly, but with a tone she didn't quite recognize. 

"I--" she stammered, and did the only thing she knew to do. She leaned forward and planted her hand onto Vogel's forehead. It was burning up, and that wasn't the Pararibulitis talking. 

Instantly, and without warning, she remembered her mother, the way she had cared for her when she was sick (but not Sick). She had been all soft touches and low voice, gentle and nurturing. Whatever apparently non-zero amount of maternal instinct Amanda possessed kicked in without her permission and she contemplated her ability to provide that sort of comfort to another person. She schooled her voice into something soft and low and murmured "what the fuck?"

Martin, Cross, and Gripps responded by exploding with an uproar of alarmed voices and gestures as they realized that she was just as in the dark as they were. She raised her eyebrows at them and sat back, waiting patiently for the noise to die down. When it finally did, she nodded at them. They all stared back at her with interest (except for Vogel, who was progressively curling into a tighter and tighter ball with every sound). 

"Well?" She demanded, "what do you guys normally do when one of you has the flu?"

This time the din was nothing short of incredible. Again, she waited for it to quiet down. When it finally did, she opened her mouth to speak, and then was horrified when Vogel uncurled from his ball to speak first. 

"What's the flu?" He demanded, voice cracking. 

Amanda came very near standing up and walking out of the van at that point, leaving the remaining members of the Rowdy Three to deal with their own Lord of the Flies situation, because she couldn't imagine where to begin. Instead she took a deep breath and willed her blood pressure down. 

"The flu is like. Shit. Really?" She racked her brain for a proper explanation, but in the end it was Gripps who spoke before she had the opportunity to. 

"The flu is your body trying to kick its own ass."

"That's--" she considered. "Yes, that's exactly what it is."

This definition roused Vogel almost instantly. He sprang up from the floor and was on his feet as fast as Amanda had ever seen him move, and in a shaky fighting stance. "I'll kick IT'S ass," he threatened viciously. He managed to hold his balance for a couple of seconds before he toppled directly into Cross, who caught him and deposited him back on the floor of the van with an awkward pat on the head that looked as though it was probably harder than he intended.

Amanda struggled to keep from laughing in spite of herself. "Calm down, Tiger," she warned. "You're not going to be kicking anyone's ass for a while."

Vogel looked genuinely alarmed. 

"What do you guys do when one of you is sick?" She prompted again, looking in turn at Martin, then Cross, then Gripps. They all stared back at her as though she was speaking another language. 

"This isn't the first time one of you has been sick before, is it?"

The three exchanged uneasy glances, as though they didn't quite know how to answer that question. 

"Oh my God," she groaned. Because of course, this was her life now.

She carefully resisted the urge to panic. It wasn't as though she didn't know how to take care of sick people. She had taken care of Todd all the time back when--

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as soon as it came, shaking her head as though to erase it like an Etch-A-Sketch. 

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Well, when you're sick, you're supposed to go to the doctor and--"

The reaction was instantaneous. Vogel instantly hid his face in his hands, and Gripps and Cross each took a step back in perfect unison. It was only Martin who leaned forward and spoke, his voice low and fierce. "No doctors. Me and my boys don't throw in with no White Coats. Not anymore."

Oh.

This reaction was unanticipated but not illogical. She couldn't blame them, or the fear in their eyes. Sometimes, for all of their violence and machismo, it was easy to forget that part of their past. 

But something had to be done. Vogel was still on the floor looking pathetic. She took a deep breath and attempted to strategize. The "doctors are here to help" speeches she received growing up (and she never really stopped hearing them, even when the tests were painful and the medicines never worked well enough and came with side effects) didn't make it to her lips. 

So instead she ran a hand through her hair and whispered "chicken soup" out loud. 

There was a general murmur of "chicken soup" from the audience before her, half questioning and half momentarily delighted by the apparent non sequitur. 

She shook her head and laughed just slightly. "My mom used to make us--me--soup when we got sick. Didn't you ever--"

No, probably not. She cleared her throat, cut her eyes to the side and regrouped again until she could think of the right thing to say. 

"Shit. Do you guys even eat?" It was a fairly legitimate question. The Rowdies took care of her, considered her one of their own, and they always brought her food (as did Farah, occasionally, although it was usually in some sort of ambiguous casserole form), but had she ever actually seen them eat any of it? She found it difficult to remember. Had Cross ever snatched a fry, or Gripps swiped a chicken nugget? 

"Don't need to eat," Vogel rasped at her. 

"That's not what I asked, buddy," she responded. 

"Don't wanna eat," he argued, pawing at bleary eyes. 

"Okay," she sighed. "Ignoring that."

She glanced at the other Rowdies for confirmation. 

Gripps scratched thoughtfully at the back of his neck. "I like chicken soup," he said finally.

It looked as though she was going to have to take that as a yes. 

"We gotta find some chickens," Cross suggested. He then, rather alarmingly, grabbed a crowbar. 

"Whoah, whoah," Amanda held up her hands to halt his train of thought. "That's not. No."

"She's right," Martin agreed, nodding sagely "You go to the grocery store--"

"Yes!"

"--And take what you need."

"No."

Martin crossed his arms and stared over the rims of his glasses at her. 

"You got a better idea?"

"Then robbing a grocery store? Yes," she reached into her pocket and plucked out her cell phone. Less than a week into life with the Rowdy Three, she had realized that her smartphone would never survive life on the road. She had since traded it in for an ancient Nokia model that even Martin deemed "indestructible."

"I've got Farah."

Amanda wasn't entirely sure how Farah felt about the Rowdy Three, or how they felt about her. Every week or so, she took advantage of Farah having a permanent place of residence and a reliable source of electricity to charge the aforementioned cell phone, and during these interludes Farah liked to load her down with things like food and new pairs of socks. But the Rowdies never joined her. They seemed to get antsy when they spent too much time in real brick and mortar buildings. And Farah kept her distance from the van, as though it made her uncomfortable. 

Well, if there was one thing any Brotzman knew, it was that forced bonding could work wonders. Amanda checked her phone. The battery was getting low. It was almost time for a visit, anyways. 

"I'll be right back," she promised, and swung open the doors of the van, allowing sunlight to come streaming in full force. Blinking rapidly, she hopped out and shut the door behind her. 

Amanda dialed Farah's number and waited. She didn't have to wait long, however. Farah was a chronic first ring answerer, and today was no exception. 

"Hello?" She always sounded somewhat suspicious when she answered the phone, as though she never quite expected the person on the other end of the line to be who they really were. 

"Farah?"

"Amanda? Hi. Is everything okay? You don't normally call until Tuesday."

"What day is today?"

"You don't--? I mean. It's Sunday."

"Huh."

"Amanda," Farah's voice was acquiring that pinpoint focus that it took on when she suspected something was wrong. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just. Needed to ask you a favor."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Soup."

"Soup?

And then the story spilled out in half-anxious chatter. 

"It's Vogel."

"Vogel is--"

"The little one."

"What's wrong?" 

"He's sick? I guess? He has a fever and I didn't even know--" she stopped, taking a deep breath to reign in this explanation before it could get out of hand or lose its point. 

"Amanda, if you need money for a doctor, you know I--"

"No! No. They won't see a doctor. They had that--you know, like Dirk?" Although she knew Farah couldn't see her, she waved her fingers in the general direction of her head in what she thought roughly looked like psychic waves. Whatever psychic waves looked like. 

"Right. And medicine?"

"Pills come from doctors."

"Alright," she could practically hear the wheels in Farah's head turning as she attempted to piece this patchwork of information together. 

"Fare," Amanda begged. She didn't know where the nickname had appeared, but she still remembered the soft, flustered way Farah smiled the first time she used it. "I barely got them to agree to soup. And I can't cook in the van, we don't even have a hot plate. And I can't--I mean. You were the only person I could think of to call."

She was glad she managed to stop herself before the rest of that sentence had revealed itself. 

Even so, Farah knew. And although her voice wavered a little on the words, she finally responded "of course. Come any time."

"Thank you Farah!" Amanda felt a wave of relief wash over her, and she pumped one first in the air. "Give us half an hour."

"Amanda,"

"Yes?" 

"Do you know how to cook chicken soup?"

"I'm really good at hands-on learning."

There was a very long silence on the other end before Farah said, "I'll go ahead and start."

"Thank you, Farah. Thank you, thank you."

"Please, don't mention it."

"Be there soon. Bye!"

"Goodbye, Amanda," Farah liked to use names when signing off. Amanda listened to click on the other end and turned, swinging open the doors of the van. Cross and Martin, who had clearly been attempting to listen, almost fell out. 

"Smooth," she commented drily, scrambling back in. "What did you guys--" her words were cut off when Gripps, from the farthest corner of the van, held up a finger to silence her. 

As if what she saw wouldn't have stopped her dead in her tracks, anyway. 

Gripps was sitting cross-legged, with Vogel's head resting on his lap. And he was. Singing. 

Well, not singing, but certainly humming. It was faint and not a tune Amanda recognized, but nonetheless, it was distinctly musical. With his free hand (the one he was not using to motion for her to be quiet), he was playing with Vogel's hair.

The domesticity took her completely aback. She blinked at them, cocking her head to one side. Gripps grinned at her, looking completely at home comforting a sick kid, as though that didn't raise a few hundred questions. Vogel appeared to have dozed off. He shifted slightly in his sleep. 

She stared at the odd image for a second longer before Martin whispered "where to?" from behind her. She started out of her revelry and turned to face him. 

"Farah's," she mouthed. He nodded and headed towards the cab of the van. 

Amanda and Cross managed to seat themselves just as it went skidding out of the field where they had parked for the night. 

*****

By the time they arrived at Farah's, Vogel was fast asleep and Gripps had moved on to lullabies Amanda recognized. He was even singing a little, and she was surprised by the rough, warm quality of his voice. If she had been into metaphors, she would have compared it to honey and whiskey. 

Martin threw the van into park with a jolt and wound his way out of the driver's seat. Without a word he scooped Vogel up to carry him into Farah's house. Vogel awoke, yelping blearily, but then relaxing a little and settling into Martin's arms once he realized what was happening. All the same, he offered a token protest. "I can walk. 'M fine."

"Bullshit," Martin responded. This was, from him, tantamount to tenderness and everyone knew it. 

Cross threw open the doors of the van and hopped out. Gripps stood and stretched and scrambled after him. Amanda was the last to leave, closing the doors of the van and then running to catch up so that she could be there when Farah opened the door. 

Cross made it to the door before her and knocked so loudly that the house seemed to rattle. Amanda scrambled to the door just in time to hear the sound of multiple locks being released from the inside. The door opened cautiously. 

"Surprise!" Cross hollered. Farah peered out of the door. 

"I knew you were coming," she said flatly. 

"Farah, hi!" Amanda scrambled to the front. "Sorry about the. All of it."

"Amanda," Farah still looked a little uncertain, but she smiled. "Come in," she stepped aside for everyone to enter. Amanda looked at her friends and mouthed "be good" at them. 

The house was small and neatly kept. In spite of Farah's newfound wealth, courtesy of Lydia Spring, she chose to live well within her means.

"You can--" she motioned to her living room, and more specifically to the couch against the far wall. Martin took the hint and headed across the room in long strides, depositing Vogel abruptly onto the sofa. Gripps had already found some throw blankets draped over a recliner. He brought them to the couch and tucked them in with care. Amanda heard the humming resume. Martin stared at the scene and then turned and barged out of the room in an apparent rush. Gripps remained fussing over Vogel, and Cross stood in the middle of the floor looking around awkwardly for a task. Amanda noticed he was still holding his crowbar. 

"Amanda?" Farah piped up, her voice somewhat tense, "Join me in the kitchen?" Amanda nodded, following her. The kitchen already smelled delicious. She couldn't help but be impressed. Farah went to stir the pot simmering on the stove. 

"Sorry we're barging in like this. They--can I borrow your charger?" She was already hooking her phone up before Farah could respond. "They were all looking at me like I had answers. And I used to be pretty good at taking care of sick people but. It turned out most of that wasn't actually real, so. I wasn't sure what to do."

"Amanda. I've already told you, if you need money for a doctor--"

"No. No. They don't want anything to do with doctors. I don't really blame them. You can only be poked and prodded and scanned and stabbed so many times in your life."

Farah's expression softened. "And the soup is going to help how?" her face was carefully neutral, but her tone was skeptical. 

"I don't--I don't know," she admitted. She pulled a chair out from Farah's small dinette and sat down hard. "I don't know if they even eat. But I had to do something. And this is something."

Farah nodded, understanding of the compulsion to take action in a moment of crisis. She stirred the soup some more.

"Do you need me in here?" Amanda questioned. Some part of her wanted Farah to say yes, to give her a reason to stay in this space insulated from the problem she was attempting to solve. 

"I think I can handle this on my own."

Well, so much for that. Amanda nodded and moved from the chair. "Then I should probably go. Make sure your house is still intact."

Farah looked momentarily stricken at the thought, but kept her composure and nodded. 

Creeping out of the kitchen, Amanda could still hear singing coming from the living room. What had started as tuneless humming and then moved onto lullabies had now switched to gentle renditions of punk rock songs that Amanda recognized from The Mexican Funeral's cover band days. She smiled. 

Gripps and Vogel present and accounted for, then. She almost breathed a sigh of relief, before she heard the banging coming from down the corridor. 

"Shit."

She sprinted down the hallway and found the source of the noise. Martin was pacing up and down the corridor in long strides and pausing every few steps to lash out at the wall with his fists. So far the sheetrock was all still intact, but Amanda doubted it would hold up much longer against the assault. 

"Martin!" she rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm. She watched him turn around, teeth bared and eyes flashing. When he recognized her as a friend, he schooled his expression back to neutral, breathing heavily. 

"What the hell?" Amanda demanded. "What are you doing?"

He pulled himself out of her grasp and started to pace again, mumbling under his breath.

"Stop it," she ordered, clenching her fists and attempting to sound commanding. 

"What?" Once again he rounded on her with a fierce expression, one which belayed something else she could almost, but not quite, put her finger on. 

"Vogel is going to be fine. And maybe you're scared or angry or--or whatever, but you can't just destroy Farah's house because of it."

Martin grunted, but instead of continuing his pacing, he slid down into a sitting position against the wall and stared across the hall apparently deep in thought. Amanda sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. 

"I know it sucks, but not everything can be solved by punching things."

"I know that," he responded peevishly. But he kept his hand balled into a fist. 

Somewhere else in the house a phone rang. It wasn't hers, so she ignored it. She heard Farah answer, the sound of her voice recognizable even though Amanda couldn't make out the words. 

The sound of speech stopped abruptly and was replaced by the sound of running footsteps. By the time Farah reached them, she was already loading a pistol. 

"Amanda," she said in that carefully measured tone she used when everything went horribly wrong. "Dirk's gone again."

"What?" Amanda sat upright instantly. "Gone where? He wasn't taken by--" she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence with Martin sitting next to her. 

"I-I don't know," Farah admitted. She was still fiddling anxiously with the gun. 

"How do you know he was--"

"Todd called," Farah blurted out. "And I know maybe you don't want to see him, but I think--"

"Screw Todd" Amanda interrupted, scrambling to her feet. "We have to find Dirk," turning to Martin she added, "will you guys--not burn down the house?"

He offered her a sly grin and a nod. Amanda turned back to Farah. "You start the car. I'll be right out," they parted ways and she ducked out of the corridor and into the living room, where Gripps and Vogel were still piled onto the sofa.

"Where's Cross?"

"Cross?" Vogel lifted his head sleepily and looked around. Gripps shrugged. 

Shit.

Amanda sped out of the room again, headed to the front door. She collided with Farah on her way back in and demanded "where the fuck is Cross?" At the same moment that Farah cried "where is my car?"

Shit shit shit. 

Gripps and Martin appeared seconds later, drawn to the confusion like moths to a flame. 

"Have you seen Cross?" Amanda asked Martin. 

"Have you seen my car?" Farah asked Gripps. They both shook their heads in silent response. 

Farah began to pace on her front porch, frantically unloading and reloading her gun as she spoke, throwing out half-considered theories. "Dirk is missing, my car is missing. Who would do this? CIA?"

Amanda started to point out that Cross was also absent, and that she had a pretty good idea where Farah's car might be in light of this. But she didn't have to say anything at all because seconds into Farah's externalized internal monologue, her car came roaring down the road and into the driveway, with Cross at the wheel. And with someone in the passenger seat. 

For the first time, Amanda felt like she truly understood what "Three questions, one answer" meant. 

Cross was the first to clamor out, followed by Dirk Gently, whose eyes were wide with panic. He seemed no less alarmed when he realized where he was. 

"Farah? Amanda? What the hell is happening?"

"I got takeout!" Cross hollered to anyone listening at this point. He strode to Farah and tossed a set of keys in her direction. "Thanks for the car," he said, nodding at her with newfound respect. 

"I didn't--" Farah started. She was interrupted by another car pulling into the driveway on two wheels. Amanda took a couple of steps backwards once she realized who was driving. 

Todd jumped out of the car spewing frantic profanity. 

"What in the hell, guy?" he demanded, getting practically nose-to-nose with Cross, who looked nothing more than highly entertained. Martin and Gripps took simultaneous steps forward, but Todd did not seem to notice. Dirk pointed a shaky finger at them, but he was ignored. 

"Listen to me, asshole!" Todd continued, ignoring everything around him. "You can't just steal a person!" He reached out and grabbed Cross by the lapels of his jacket to shake him. His mistake, because within seconds Martin and Gripps were on him. Gripps grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back, holding him suspended in the air. Todd flailed and continued his shouting. Dirk cried his best friend's name, but otherwise only managed to dance around on the outskirts of the fight. Amanda couldn't help but laugh. When she did, Martin looked back and gave her a knowing wink. He allowed Todd to flail in the air for another couple of minutes before he nodded to Gripps.

"Put him down. Let 'im go."

Gripps dropped Todd and let him land in a haphazard puddle on the ground. Dirk finally managed to dart in and help him up, standing him upright and dusting him down.

"What are we doing here?" Dirk questioned, keeping a safe distance from the Rowdies as he assisted Todd. 

"Go get Vogel!" Cross instructed to no one in particular. But they didn't have to get Vogle, because he appeared in the doorway, drawn out by the tempting sounds of chaos. He squinted in the sunlight and hobbled out towards the group standing in the front yard. 

"What's going on?" He questioned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"I got takeout!" Cross repeated, delighted with his ability to help his friend. Vogel grinned and slowly made his way to where Dirk was cowering and Todd was maintaining an angry fighting stance. 

"Not again..." Dirk murmured unhappily as all members of the Rowdy Three surrounded the two of them. 

Amanda watched in quiet fascination as the Rowdies fed off of the fear and anger in Dirk and Todd. She wasn't used to seeing the process from an outside perspective. Pararibulitis made her, under normal circumstances, a perfect buffet of high emotion. But on days when her attacks were fewer, they had to improvise, because they would never inflict fear on her for their own purposes. 

Dirk was a fairly good stand-in, whether he wanted to be or not. 

"Does it hurt?" Farah questioned, watching the process with her gun still in her hand. 

"No," Amanda assured her. "They sort of. Eat fear. But sometimes they have to create it first."

"Dirk," Farah guessed. 

"And Todd, I guess," Amanda added, a little amused. "He's like a bonus. Like desert."

Almost as quickly as they had started, The Rowdy Three broke their circle around Dirk and Todd, who looked utterly bemused, but no worse for wear. 

"Thanks," vogel said to Cross. Seconds later he swooned. Martin caught him with a grunt and carried him, once again, back into the house, with Gripps and Cross just behind him. 

Amanda and Farah followed, and Dirk and Todd jogged to catch up.

"What the hell was that?" Todd demanded. 

Farah turned. "It's a whole. Strange...Um. Amanda?"

"Vogel is sick," Amanda offered by way of explanation. "He needed to eat."

"US?"

She crossed her arms. "Don't you remember what it's like caring for a sick person, Todd? Sometimes you do what you have to do."

Todd backed off immediately. 

"I made chicken soup," Farah jumped in, attempting to break up the tension. "And. I think it might be useless now. Do you want some?"

"Oh, chicken soup!" Dirk cheered up instantly at the prospect. "Just like mother used to make!"

"Your mother made you chicken soup?" Amanda questioned. 

"No, but I'm quite sure somebody's mother did. Come along, Todd!"

Dirk darted into the house and Todd followed. 

"I'm sorry, Farah," Amanda said when they were gone. "I think this was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault," Farah assured her, although she still looked a little nervous about the people currently in her home. "You did what you had to do. I would have done the same. Maybe."

"Probably not, though," Amanda noted. 

"Probably not."

"Well thank you for letting me. Let's go make sure no one is destroying your house."

Inside, Vogel was back on the couch under a pile of blankets, with Martin, Cross, and Gripps sitting on the floor beside him and talking in rapid-fire succession, happily interrupting each other and yelling in their excitement. 

In the kitchen, Todd and Dirk were counting out bowls and spoons for eight people (although it seemed unlikely that the Rowdy Three would be interested in soup at this point). Although she doubted Dirk really wanted to sit down and eat a meal with a group of people who usually made him the main course, it was a nice gesture. 

Amanda smiled. This, she realized, was her family. Some of the members she had chosen herself. One in particular she was stuck with, but slowly remembering how to love again all the same. 

Dirk dropped a spoon and it clattered to the ground. Todd picked it up and absentmindedly hung it off of his own nose. Without meaning to, Amanda laughed. Todd turned around, surprised, and smiled at her. 

Farah joined Dirk and Todd in the kitchen, carefully ladling soup into bowls. Over her shoulder she questioned, "Amanda, could you call everyone for dinner?" as though this were any typical night. 

And maybe, Amanda realized, maybe for them it could be.


End file.
